


Heroes' Journey

by dianasilverman



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Canon - Book, Cuddling & Snuggling, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Resolved Sexual Tension, Road Trips, Swordfighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2020-11-24 15:26:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20909873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dianasilverman/pseuds/dianasilverman
Summary: Jaime has a change of heart and decides to leave King's Landing and follow Brienne on her quest to find Sansa Stark. As fugitives, they spend their days riding through the wilderness and their nights under the stars. Along the way, she teaches him to fight again.





	1. Brienne

All the things I own I will share with you.  
The Kinks, “Strangers”

Dusk was settling over the Riverlands by the time Jaime called a halt to their progress for the day. The sullen autumn sky was turning from slate to charcoal, and the wind was cold enough to make Brienne shiver even in her thick woolen cloak. Fog drifted from the banks of God’s Eye to settle among the trees. Or, at least, she hoped it was coming from the lake. They dared not approach it for fear of encountering villages, but were instead making their progress through the woods to its west. She was trusting Jaime to lead them to the Vale. As a child on Tarth she had learned to follow the stars like any good seafarer, but it was far harder to do so with the horizon hidden behind thick forest. That they hadn’t become entirely lost yet was a testament to the navigational skills a certain squire had learned during his time fighting the Kingswood Brotherhood.

Brienne had wanted to protest when Jaime suggested they stop, but hunger had gotten the better of her. When she dismounted, her legs were achy and weak. It had been a hard day’s ride. While Jaime sorted through their provisions, she unbuckled her armor and slipped into the trees to exchange her leather britches for a roughspun pair that fortunately smelled far less of horse. A call of “don’t flatter yourself, there’s no need for modesty” followed her. She paid it no mind. Traveling with Jaime had taught her that a lion is like a common mouser; it swipes at even those it doesn’t intend to hurt.

By the time she returned to the mossy knoll that was to be their bed that night, supper awaited her. Jaime had brought half of the Red Keep’s larders with him when he left: salt pork, dried fruit, and brown bread, along with far too much wine. It was a good thing he had, as even with their armor hidden, there was nowhere they would not arouse suspicion.

They ate in companionable silence, both initially too hungry for conversation. Brienne finished her hunk of bread regretfully, and stretched her long legs out on the soft moss, sighing as her muscles relaxed.

“Wine?”, Jaime offered.

“I’d best not.”

“Do me the courtesy. It gets lonely drinking alone.”

She took the wineskin from him with an ill grace that he clearly found amusing.

“It’s good,” she admitted.

“You only took half a swallow! Do I need to challenge Lord Redwyne to a duel for offending my lady?”

Despite herself, Brienne could feel her cheeks flushing. It really had been good, and strong enough to warm her belly despite the chill in the air.

“I’m no lady.”

“That’s all well and good, as I’m in no fit state to go to war with the Arbor. Drink. It’s been a long... something.” He gestured vaguely with his stump.

_Sometimes, it’s best to know a hard truth early on_, she thought, picturing the walls of Highgarden. _I’ve learned that well enough_.

“In truth, I dare not dull my senses. Some foe could come upon us in the night...”

“And you would be compelled to defend me.” A shadow passed across Jaime’s face as he said it.

“I meant no offense, ser.”

“None was taken. But it’s a poor knight who must rely on others to defend him.”

“If we’re discovered, I won’t be able to defend either of us for long. Nevertheless, I’d prefer to keep my wits and die on my feet.”

“Would that I could do the same.”

Brienne was up and dusting off her trousers, but Jaime didn’t appear to mark her absence until she thrust a branch at him. It was weirwood, slender and glowing bone white in the twilight.

“There's no shame in needing someone to rely on. There's also no reason you can't swing a sword again.” she said.

“You can’t intend-”

“On your feet, Ser Jaime.”

He rose and took the branch with only minimal complaining. The sigh he gave her as they got in position was all melodrama. Brienne grinned.

“It’s unchivalrous to pick a fight you’re sure to win.”

“I may not win.”

He arched an eyebrow at her.”

“Just don’t judge a cripple in his cups too harshly,” Jaime grumbled.

Jaime had once downed an entire skin of Arbor Gold, and then held a lucid argument on the merits of different gauntlet styles with her, but Brienne let the excuse slide.

“Rea-” she started, but he launched himself at her before she could finish, stick arching at her throat. She blocked his clumsy attempt at surprise easily. His stance had only been fair to start, so when the force of her parry knocked him back he almost tripped. Undeterred, he came at her again. Again, she deflected. His blows were clumsy but ferocious. If any had landed, they would have been bruising, but none did. Around and around the clearing they danced, dodging logs and frightening squirrels until Jaime’s blond curls were dark with sweat and his arm was visibly shaking. Jaime’s boot caught a loose rock and he stumbled, falling to one knee. To Brienne’s surprise, he rallied with a grunt and a desperate swipe at her legs. Only then did she go on the attack, ending the fight with a quick, clinical strike that sent his branch flying.

“You would make a fearsome master at arms, wench.”

“Bri-enne,” she growled.

“Brienne. Forgive me, I can be scornful when defeated.”

“You’re forgiven.”

“I needed the practise. Thank you.” His deep green eyes were as serious as Brienne had ever seen them. She felt her blush returning.

“It was my-” _pleasure_, she would have said, but the word stuck in her throat. Fortunately, he was already getting up and untying his bedroll. If he were anyone else, she might have thought he was embarrassed. Jaime Lannister, though, was enviably shameless.

Brienne offered to take the first watch that night. She was wound too tightly to sleep anyway. Wrapped in furs beneath the endless starry sky, she listened to the sounds of the night forest and turned the day’s events over in her head. The longer she stayed awake, the more thoroughly she felt a fool. A witless maid who had learned nothing from years of scorn and hardship. She needed to content herself with helping him learn to fight again. Jaime’s admiration and gratitude might be hers, but nothing more could be. After all, no man ever loved a woman for her skill with a blade.

She had been in love before, of course, but Renly had been different. She had fallen for him all at once, before she knew him at all. In truth, despite devoting herself to his service, she had scarcely come to know him better. It had been enough to be near him though, to know that he respected her and trusted her to keep him safe. Her failure to do so still stung, but not as badly as she thought it should. Worse, her memories of him were beginning to fade.

By contrast, her love for Jaime had come upon her slowly. The course of a river might look the same one day to the next, but if you return after a long absence, the very landscape will be unrecognisable. She had gone from loathing Jaime to loving him in much the same way. It was only when he’d caught her on the road to Duskendale, with his eyes wild and his horse all in a lather, that she’d realised the true extent of her feelings. Gods only knew what had compelled him to be there. By changing his mind and following her he’d lost everything: the Kingsguard, Casterly Rock, and, of course, his sister. No one had ever done anything like that for her before. She hoped he didn’t regret it.

Soon, the moon was creeping towards the eastern horizon. Brienne’s eyes were heavy, but she made no move to wake Jaime. Instead, she watched the sky turn from black to a grey that promised another day of cold rain, and repeated to herself that what she and Jaime had now could be enough. _Please_, she prayed, _let it be enough_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is set sometime during A Feast for Crows. I've tried to follow the books as closely as I can, while still writing what I want. I would've loved to keep Pod in here, but I think our lovebirds need space to work things out, so maybe he went to Pentos with Tyrion...
> 
> I'll be updating this weekly to give me time to make sure I'm not misspelling anything too badly.


	2. Jaime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime's getting better at fighting; sometimes he even manages to keep his feet under him. Unfortunately, waking up next to Brienne shows him that a clumsy left hand is the least of his problems.

We will share this road we walk, and mind our mouths, and beware our talk.  
The Kinks, “Strangers”

After they crossed the Trident, the sullen skies and constant rains that had plagued Jaime and Brienne gave way to autumn winds. They brought with them salty air from the Bite, and all of the North’s cold with it. The last russet leaves were blown away, leaving bare brown branches to shiver in the gales. Even the soldier pines and sentinels swayed and creaked ominously. Each day was a trial, and the cold was getting harder to stand the further they traveled. Their plan, such as it was, relied on the hope that Lysa Arryn was treacherous enough to harbour the Stark girl, and as such, would not kill the late Lady Catelyn’s sworn shield and her Kingslayer on sight. It was a dim prospect, but at least the Seven Hells were warm, which was more than could be said of the Riverlands. _Would that this quest had taken us to Dorne_, Jaime thought regularly.

He would have liked to complain, having always found a good grouse cathartic, but his lady bore the unpleasantness stoically, and pride led him to follow her example. Brienne would have been hell to have along back in the Kingswood, when commiserating had been the only way to make the days tolerable.

Having resigned himself to the cold, when Jaime awoke one morning to find himself warm, the shock of it made him forget where he was. His first thought was that he was back in the Red Keep, that he’d only dreamt his leaving. The thought was terrifying enough to rouse him, but when his eyes flew open he saw skeletal trees and a sliver of silver sky. Slowly, his heartbeat calmed. It was then that he registered the source of the warmth: Brienne. He was laying on his side and she’d wrapped both her arms and one long leg around him. Her head was buried in the curve of his shoulder.

The events of the previous night came flooding back to him; losing another stick duel, Brienne taking the first watch as she always did, laying awake listening to her shiver and try to hide it. Sleep hadn’t come easily to him in a long time, a condition that recent events had worsened. In the end, he’d given in and thrown his furs over her before climbing in next to her and waiting for her to object. Instead, she’d muttered something about this being only a practicality and he’d agreed that that’s all it was. He doubted she’d be happy when she woke up, though. Just because she treated him without disdain didn’t mean she wanted him in her bed. However, knowing he should pull away didn’t change how much he wanted to stay. Her body was soft and solid against him, her limbs impossibly strong. _Just a moment more, and I’ll take myself back to my own bed_. It took all his restraint not to sigh as he relaxed into her embrace.

Sometime later, he jolted awake again. This time, he did pull away, carefully disentangling himself from her. Every muscle in his body ached sweetly from their sparring. When he was free, he looked down at her for a long moment, enjoying the rare chance to study her. Sleep did not improve her features. With her lovely blue eyes closed, her face was a broad, unbroken sweep of nose and freckles. Her lips were pale, her lashes paler. _She is certainly the ugliest wench I’ve ever woken up with_, he thought, wanting very badly to kiss her.

Courtesy made him steal into the woods to control certain stirrings her presence had aroused. There was exactly one person left in the world with a good opinion of him, and it would not do to frighten her. Upon returning to the clearing, he set about retrieving food from the saddle bags and giving fodder to the horses like the world's oldest squire while he waited for Brienne to stir.

They broke their fast on hard bread and stolen apples. All of Brienne’s attention was seemingly focused on her meagre meal. Prickly silence pervaded.

“Thank you,” she said suddenly, eyes still downcast.

“What?”

“I said ‘thank you,’” she answered defiantly. “It was good to be warm.”

“It was.”

“You could do it again, if it please you.”

“As my lady wishes.”

She made a vaguely disgusted noise at that, but the awkwardness between them had dispersed. Jaime felt himself relax, and realised he’d been expecting her to tell him off. As they broke camp and mounted up, he couldn’t help wondering at the fact that she’d gone against his assumptions twice in a period of only a few hours. _When did Brienne of Tarth become unpredictable?_ He turned the question over and over in his head, but found himself no closer to the answer.

It had become their custom to fight every evening before dinner. Jaime was improving, but frustratingly slow. When he was a boy, swordsmanship had been the first thing to come naturally to him. True, he had spent long hours in the yard after the other boys had left, but that was only because it was good to have something to truly excel at. Now, nothing about fighting came easily. He had yet to land a single blow, and Brienne would not even do him the honour of attacking in earnest.

That night, he did better than usual. They fought in a clearing beside a small stream, their boots beating a circle in the dry brush. Jaime was learning Brienne’s style. Putting all of his force behind every blow would do little and less against her great strength and she would swat him away easily. If he kept his balance and conserved his energy, as he was doing now, he could at least hope to pose a challenge. His branch slashed up, seeking her exposed side, but she sidestepped and he stumbled.

“Don’t put all your weight on your left foot when you advance,” she advised.

“I know.”

“Clearly, you don’t,” she said, parrying a blow intended to cleave her head from her shoulders.

“I. Know,” he huffed.

“You just did it again.” She was as calm as still water, not even breathing hard. Her endless patience was infuriating.

“You ought. To attack. Show me. How wrong. I. Am.”

“I’ve been told not to pick a fight I’m sure to win. No true knight would beat a man when he’s down.”

“The only. True knight left. In the. Seven Kingdoms. Is. A. Great. Ugly. Wench. Too. Pigheaded. To-”

In his frustration, he had hoped to see her anger, but instead she only disarmed him with a precise blow, ending their session prematurely. It was only when she turned away that it occurred to him that he had misstepped.

“Brienne,” he said gently, touching her shoulder. “Brienne, forgive me, I did not mean…”

When she faced him, her eyes were shining.

“You said I’m a true knight.”

He laughed. That _would_ be the thing to penetrate that thick skull of hers.

“I meant it. I would knight you myself if it were in my power.”

“Again?,” she asked, brushing the tears from her face brusquely and retrieving her stick. He was already squaring off, with a sincere effort at improving his stance.

He didn’t win that night, didn’t even land a blow, but at least he managed to keep his footing. _Not that I mind the view from my knees_, a mutinous part of his mind added. Brienne did have amazing legs. For her part, his wench was as incredible as ever. With a branch or a sword in her hand, she was graceful enough to put all the dancers in the land to shame. Better yet, he could have sworn she allowed him a glimpse of her true fierceness that night. It was subtle, but he recognised it in the quickness of her parries, in way her eyes glinted when he drew close. Her scowl flattered him. _She’ll make a worthy opponent of me yet._

Later, he curled against her side while she kept watch in a way that should have been uncomfortable, but wasn’t. Her trousers smelled of horse. He pretended to sleep, but inside he was lost in a swirl of blood and green flame. Aery’s face became Tyrion’s, which became his father’s. Tywin’s rotting smile made him think of his sweet sister, of the way she had smirked when he refused to take her, so sure he would come begging later. He had wanted to strangle her. _She’s been fucking Lancel, and Osmund Kettleblack, and Moon Boy._After everything she had done, the fact that her infidelity had been the thing to turn him away said much and more of him, none of it good. Hatred and guilt weighed heavy on him.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

He needed to be careful with Brienne. There had been entirely too many times recently when he’d almost done something he wouldn’t be able to take back. He couldn’t allow that to happen. She deserved better. Besides, she clearly didn’t feel like he did. Her surliness made that clear enough.

His mummer’s sleep must have been convincing. A calloused finger brushed a lock of hair back from his temple. Then, Brienne was _petting_ him, running gentle hands through his curls. He tensed, and was afraid she’d notice, because if she did, she would stop, and gods, he didn’t want her to. Wryly, he recalled that the warmth in his chest was exactly the kind of thing he was supposed to be guarding against. It was impossible to concentrate with her touching him like that though, so he abandoned chastising himself, and instead, finally, fell asleep.__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note on the knighthood conversation: it makes sense to me that Jaime would have been stripped of all his titles when he left the Kingsguard, but I wasn't able to find out for sure without reading the entire wiki page, so let me know if there's a precedent I'm unaware of. Brienne still calls him "Ser" because she's Brienne ;)
> 
> As ever, this journey would be impossible in canon without someone (BwB, Stone Crows, random bits of some army, etc.) attacking them, but I wanted to write a road trip, so that's what I'm doing.


	3. Brienne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne has been holding herself together closely her whole life. It's time for her to let go.

This love of life makes me weak at my knees.  
The Kinks, “Strangers"

Since leaving home, Brienne had seen much of Westeros, but nowhere had she encountered sunsets like those in the Mountains of the Moon. The towering peaks that surrounded her and Jaime on all sides blocked the sun’s rays so that twilight came to the valleys hours before the sky turned pink. They often had to stop long before sunset lest their horses stumble in the dark. This slowed their progress, but it also afforded them extra time for sparring. Each night, Jaime came closer to finding an opening, and one night he did, with a savage blow that dodged her guard and sent her reeling. There was some of his former quickness in the way his branch darted up to press against her throat.

When Brienne was a child, her Septa had used a switch to teach her not to show her emotions. Brienne was ugly enough, Roelle was wont to say, without her features twisted by anger, sadness, or, worse, joy. Now though, Brienne was grinning, paying no mind to Jaime’s gaze in her exultation._ He did it!_

“Well fought!,” she exclaimed.

“Are you alright? I scarcely expected that blow to land, else-”

“I’ll have a bruise, but otherwise, I’m fine.” He was, she realised, standing very close. She drew back.

Jaime had largely stopped drinking, but that night he drew a wineskin from the saddlebags. When he offered it to her, Brienne did not refuse. After all, he had worked hard and the honour of a celebratory toast was not so much to ask. They sat side by side amongst the furs, passing the wine. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. Ever since their first cold night huddled together, he had taken to _touching_ her, brushing her hair back or taking her hand. Given the sharp pain having him so close caused, she should have stopped him, but she couldn’t bring herself to.

“Tell me about Tarth,” he said.

“Why?”

“Always so suspicious, wench. Fear not, I have no interest in your lord father’s crags and driftwood. I’m just curious. And cold. Enthrall me with a dream of your warm Southron home.”

“We’re still in the South.”

“I haven’t been able to feel my toes since the Ruby Ford and there are men in wolf skins who want to kill us. This is the North.” Just to forestall any further complaining, Brienne covered his feet with her legs. They were, in fact, freezing.

“Dream of your own home.”

“I have none. Father disinherited me _before_.”

Brienne suddenly felt ashamed. She never tolerated cruelty in herself, even when it was accidental.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, “Tarth is… small. Quiet. Everyone knows everyone else, which would be awful in King’s Landing, but people tend to be kinder there. We’re rich in beauty, but little else, so it’s important to stick together. Evenfall is small as well but sturdy, I suppose.”

“You suppose?”

“I never explored the castle much. When I wasn’t sleeping or training, I’d go in search of hidden coves or meadows.”

“I did the same when I was young. I think I would like your Sapphire Isle.” She was about to protest, having always assumed that Jaime enjoyed the excitement and intrigue of the capital, but she realised she didn’t know if that was true.

“I miss it every day, just a little, the forests, the cliffs, how the water sparkles in the midday sun.”

“Perhaps we ought to go there after we find the Stark girl.”

“Jaime,” she sighed, “everyone would think…”

“Right. I know what everyone would think. It wouldn’t do to be seen with me, you do have your honour to consider.” He sounded bitter, and she couldn’t fathom why.

“No! But my father, he’d assume you were my intended and I know you’d never want that.”

“Brienne…”

She pushed up from where she had been leaning against him, wincing as the bruise on her side twinged.

“You’re hurt.”

“It’s not so bad.”

“Let me see.” Gingerly, she lifted the corner of her shirt. Anything to pause the bewildering discussion of Tarth. He leaned closer, tracing her purpled skin and making her breath catch.

“You’re… soft.”

“I shouldn’t be,” she protested weakly.

“Relax. I’m not insulting your warrior’s physique. Quite the opposite.”

“Jaime-,” she started, but he silenced her by caressing her lower lip.

“You remind me of a lobster without its shell. When you take your armor off-”

“Jaime!” There was an edge to his teasing. She wondered if he was nervous, but that seemed preposterous.

“I’ve never wanted to kiss a lobster, though.”

When his meaning registered, Brienne felt like the earth beneath her had lurched sideways, but she didn’t pull away. Then his lips met hers and she couldn’t have moved if she wanted to. And, _Gods_ she didn’t want to. His hand tangled in her hair, his arm finding the small of her back to draw her closer, his mouth impossibly warm and gentle. It was all she could do to avoid collapsing into his arms, so sweet was the surrender they shared.

All too soon, he drew back to rest his forehead against hers. Reality came crashing back down around her sickeningly quickly.

“Why did you do that?,” she asked, sure he was going to be horrified at his mistake. _Better to know a hard truth up front_.

He laughed wryly. “Seven Hells, Brienne, can’t you see how much I love you?”

“You?-”

“Well, I hadn’t realised it until I said it, but it’s true enough.”

“But I’m-”

“The best person in the world and entirely too good for me. I know. I tried to leave you for someone who deserves you, but apparently I’m too selfish.”

She’d never had much patience for his self deprecating moods, so she did the only natural thing and kissed him again. It was different this time, less soft. When he slid his tongue against her lip in a silent question she forgot herself entirely. Jaime met her urgency, and soon she was doing everything she had ever been told was wrong for her gender; pushing him down in the grass, kissing him with abandon, and pinning him under her with no regard for hiding her strength. To her amazement, he didn’t object, only groaned and held her tighter.

That night’s final sunset came, darkness closing around them, but Brienne paid it no mind. She knew that when it was time to sleep, she would do so in the arms of the man she loved, who loved her back. And in the meantime, he was hers to keep kissing. It seemed impossible, but wonderful, too.


	4. Jaime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne celebrate their last night on the road, at least for now.

We are not two, we are one.  
The Kinks, “Strangers”

Jaime wanted to stay in the mountains forever. Each time they scrambled up a high pass he would reward himself for the climb with dreams of making a life in the hidden valley below. He told Brienne as much, whispering sweet nonsense into her hair in between kisses, describing how they would build a snug cottage from stones and dry willow, and fill it with the smell of roasting game and the sound of children laughing. When she protested that the only animals to hunt for miles were marmots and that winter was coming, he just laughed and kissed her harder. Despite her objections, he thought the idea held some appeal for her, too. It was a sweet dream. In this way, their time passed in easy contentment, long days of riding giving way to endless sunsets and longer embraces. Brienne was still too shy for much more than kissing, but Jaime didn’t mind. For her, he could be patient.

It was with a heavy heart, then, that he followed a cry of “Jaime, look!” up the side of a steep ridge. Brienne was just ahead of him. When he reached the top, he saw what had made her call him; the Vale of Arryn spread out below them, golden in the afternoon sun. They were above the Gates of the Moon, so high as to be on a level with the honeycomb cells of the Eyrie. Thousands of feet of empty sky stretched between them and the keep, though. It would take them the remainder of that day and all of the next to make their descent and present themselves. Still, their journey was almost at its end.

“It’s not too late to turn back. We could build that cottage, or sail across the narrow sea. You’d make a fine bravo." 

“Lady Sansa," she reminded him regretfully.

“I know. You can’t turn your back on your quest, after all.”

“It’s your quest, too.”

That was true enough, so he gave her the best smile he could muster and followed her down the ridge. As they picked their way over ice and scree, he found comfort in watching her ride, steady and graceful ahead of him. Whatever awaited him, there was no one he’d rather face it with.

Their supper was quiet that night. Brienne wrapped an arm around his waist, holding him tightly to her even though it meant she had to eat one handed. She seemed lost in thought.

“Perhaps we should train after all, my love. Or find some other way to tire ourselves out.”

She shook her head even as she leaned in to kiss his cheek.

“It’s only my mind that’s unrestful.”

“Stag for your thoughts?”

“I have no interest in your silver.”

“I’m not a man to be so easily deflected. You should know.”

“I was thinking…,” she started, but trailed off. Her brow furrowed, and her jaw set as if she were bracing herself for something unpleasant. His heart sank. _Perhaps she means to leave her affair with the Kingslayer in the mountains, where it cannot stain her honour_.

“Is there a way, only if you wanted to… without moon tea…”, she asked in a low rush, not meeting his eyes. _Oh_.

“Oh… It would take some restraint on my part, but it’s possible.”

“If that’s true, then why did your sister bear children?” This question was even softer, and she still wouldn’t look at him. He sighed.

“She wanted three of them. At the time, I did whatever she asked of me.”

“You never speak her name.”

It was true. He seldom even thought it, not wanting her to somehow come between them.

“Cersei,” he whispered into the darkness. For the first time in his life, his sister’s name was just a word.

“Do you still love her?”

“I love _you_. Only you.” he told her truthfully, pulling her closer. “I desire you alone, as well, but I will not act on it unless you’re willing.” He punctuated the statement with a gentle kiss.

After a long moment, she drew away, but only to drape them under a heavy fur. She yanked her shift over her head unceremoniously and had started on the laces of her breeches before Jaime got over his surprise enough to lean in and kiss her. Her lips were a tight line when his found them.

“Is something wrong?”

“My septa said there would be pain, that I must bear it meekly.”

He sighed dramatically, liking the way his breath made gooseflesh rise amongst the freckles on her collarbone.

“Your septa was a fool and likely a maid, as well. Let me show you.” She nodded.

This time when he kissed her, she did not flinch but relaxed into him. Her mouth opened under his and she reached out to slide her arms around him, pressing them together. He kissed down her neck and dipped his head under the fur to kiss her small, perfect breasts as his hand slid under her waistband. She liked when he sucked on her teats, if the way she whimpered and the wetness between her legs were any indication. As he stroked her, her hips began to buck against him, seeking pressure. Her release was close, so he slowed down, drawing it from her in lazy circles that left her boneless beneath him after the spasms calmed.

“Was that… was I alright?,” she asked as he raised his head.

“Gods yes. You’re perfect like this, all spread out for me.”

She kissed him then, and helped him with their remaining clothes. When they were naked, she pinned him under her, rocking her hips experimentally against him as her mouth met his. The feel of her strong legs wrapped around him, of her fingers stroking his nipples, of her hot wetness so close to his straining erection, was almost too much.

“Brienne. Do what. You will.”

With a kiss, she sat back against him and he helped her to join them. She bit her lip a little as she sunk down and took him inside her, but the pained look gave way to a moan as he showed her how to ride him. Brienne was a fast learner; astonishingly strong, yet gentle and a little unsure. It took all of his self control to hold back, but he lasted long enough to feel her shudder against him, and to pull away. After, they lay in quiet, sticky bliss while their breathing slowed.

“Thank you, Jaime,” Brienne told the side of his neck, breaking the silence.

“There is no hardship I will not endure for my lady’s sake.”

“You ought to introduce me to this lady you speak of. She must be extraordinary to inspire such loyalty.”

“Was that a jape, wench? I can see I’ve corrupted you.”

She laughed, then propped herself up on her elbows to look at him. His mouth had left bruises on her chest, which made him absurdly happy.

“I love you. I have for a long time,” she said, astonishingly blue eyes luminous even in the dark.

“I love you too,” he replied, silently vowing to show her just how much he meant it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is posted later than I intended, but I find smut weirdly difficult to write. I apologise, and I hope you like it anyway!
> 
> Note: I didn't know what to rate this, so let me know if it should be Explicit.


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